


i'm not telling you it's going to be easy

by brandflakeeee



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M, Gen, alternate universe and canon divergence ahoy, an idea that's been buzzing and i needed to put to paper, as always, lemony is a bit of a shit, some obvious warnings about unplanned pregnancy and the like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-08-20 14:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16557590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandflakeeee/pseuds/brandflakeeee
Summary: in a surprising twist, a series of unfortunate events unfolds in a different sort of way than what we're given.alternatively, the story in which lemony snicket learns how to function as a father (spoiler alert: he's a hot mess).





	1. five and a half weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to this roller coaster ride. please keep all hands and legs inside the vehicle at all times.

Adrenaline rushed through her like a second heartbeat, falling into rhythm with her pounding feet against the damp pavement. The city passed in a shadowed blur pointed with faded lamplights and the occasional set of car headlights. Down another alleyway and finally she caught sight of the darkened shadow of her target ahead turning another corner. She could anticipate his movements – she veered sharply right down an adjacent alleyway and pushed herself harder. Her legs ached, her lungs burned, and still she pressed on. Always pressing on in pursuit of her target until her body felt ready to fall apart at the seams. Part of being a volunteer, she had learned. The thrill of chasing down a lead – quite literally.

Reaching the end of her chosen path, Beatrice turned the corner and raced down the sidewalk. As she reached the entrance to the next alley her target appeared – she threw her body weight against him and sent them both collapsing to the ground. Breathing hard, she straddled her target against the cement trying to catch air in her lungs. Beneath her, he made no move to escape save a loud groan of annoyance.

“I cannot believe I didn’t think of you using that trick!”

Beatrice laughed airily.

“If it makes you feel any better, you nearly got away at the start.”

“Not really.”

“One day, Bertrand. One day.” She rolled off him and to her feet, offering out a hand. He took it, using it to haul himself to his feet just as Kit came racing around the corner huffing and out of breath.

“Stars. You two are fast.”

“Sorry.” Beatrice chimed, helping Bertrand dust himself off.

“I might kill Jacques if he suggests another one of these late night sessions.” Kit muttered. “Especially when he doesn’t bother to show!”

“He’s helping recruit with Olaf tonight. The Calibans, I think.” Bertrand replied, brows knitting together.

“Excuses.” Kit scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. Beatrice laughed.

“It was good exercise at the very least.” Beatrice offered and Kit made a face. “Come on. My flat isn’t far. I’ll make us tea.”

“How very _English_ of you.” Bertrand teased. Beatrice nudged him as they fell into step with one another along the sidewalk. Beatrice still felt out of breath, catching herself inhaling deeply with every step. Usually it was far easier to recover; her agility couldn’t be matched out of the other volunteers, her reflexes sharp and senses hyper alert even on her off days. She prided herself on such feats, determined more than most to devote her life to the organization she had been recruited into. After all, she had met such charming people that she couldn’t quite imagine her life without.

“Are you all right?” Kit asked as they reached Beatrice’s building and her hand stilled at the door.

“Just a stitch in my side, I think.” She murmured, her free hand coming to clutch her side with a sudden hiss. Unexpected. Perhaps she’d pulled something, but Beatrice had never felt a muscle do that particular pain before. It traveled, a sharp pain that moved from her side to her abdomen and made her muscles seize so fiercely she nearly doubled over. Kit and Bertrand were there immediately on either side of her, concern colouring their faces. Beatrice tried to brush it off again with a scoff and the promise of being absolutely fine, but her retort died before she could even speak as the pain returned again, rolling down her spine and back into her muscles, turning her words into another sharp hiss of pain.

Something was clearly quite wrong.

Bracing a hand against the door to the building, she tried to breathe through it as they had all been taught once. Breathing through pain made it easier to burden, though she was sure that was meant for life threatening injuries or gunshots. Not random stabs of pain (unless it was an actual stabbing, though Beatrice was certain that was not the case).

“I think I pulled a muscle.” She managed, straightening back up. Kit looked unconvinced and Bertrand looked worried; she ground her teeth against the spasms in her attempts to look entirely fine. She was fine. Things were fine.

“Beatrice, you’re bleeding.” Kit observed after a long moment of silent between the three when Beatrice finally managed to pull herself together. The gesture at Beatrice made her look down and see that indeed, her dress was stained dark at her thighs. She frowned deeply, the smell of rust finally hitting her as another spasm swept through her. It nearly made her knees go out from beneath her.

Beatrice prided herself on being able to endure most situations, painful or not. But this – this was something else.

“Bertrand, can you get her to the hospital? I’ll phone Jacques.” Kit was already saying, though it sounded vaguely underwater when Beatrice looked up. She wanted to protest, wanted to say she didn’t need a hospital, but could not find her voice. She could only focus on trying to breathe through the pain – uncertain now if she had been stabbed or not. It felt like it; what she could assume a stabbing to feel like, that was.

The world tilted, blurred, and shifted. She would like to say she remembered exactly what happened down to every detail but that would have been a lie.

“Everything will be fine.” Bertrand murmured when the world came into focus again. The night air gave way to the cold, stale air of the hospital and the stench of antiseptic nearly made her lose her stomach. She pressed her face against Bertrand – had he carried her all the way to the hospital? She wanted to ask, but was afraid any sudden movement would bring the pain screaming back. It was dull now, throbbing in time with every heartbeat. Everything still sounded underwater; she was aware of voices beyond Bertrand’s, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

Bertrand didn’t put her down until they were swept quietly into a room and a nurse brought one of the paper gowns. It hurt to uncurl herself long enough to stand much less to pull her clothes off and it on. It took every fibre of her being not to cry out as the pain laced through her. Bertrand turned his back politely, Beatrice unable to tell him to leave. Truth be told a part of her – a very large part, was terrified. Uncertain.

Blood stuck her thighs together still as she finally managed to pull the gown on roughly, her clothes stained and ruined. The pain dulled at the edges, not nearly as sharp and she pulled herself onto the starchy bed. Bertrand took up her hand.

“I’ve never had this sort of pain before.” She admitted, fingers in a death grip around Bertrand’s. “Would you think less of me if I said I was terrified?”

“Everything will be fine.” Bertrand repeated gently. “Do you want me to call - ?”

“No.” She cut him off, shaking her head. “I don’t want to wory him.”

“Bea-.”

The door swung open into the little room and in stepped a man Beatrice had only heard of, never seen. Average height and build with greying hair that looked like it had once been black. He wore a pair of circular glassed perched on the edge of his nose.

“Dr. Bartow.” Bertrand greeted, and the man offered a brief, encouraging smile. The VFD specialist placed in the hospital to ensure their people were well taken care of.

“Tell me everything.” He demanded kindly, to the point. Beatrice couldn’t find it in herself to speak, her earlier panic taking desperate grip of her lungs and making it difficult to breathe or focus. Bless Bertrand, who took the job of relaying the evening’s events. She could only watch the expression on Dr. Bartow’s face shift, though it gave away nothing.

“Ms. Anwhistle -.”

“Beatrice.”

“-Beatrice.” He amended. “I need to examine you. I’ll try to do so with as little invasion as possible. How is your pain now, and where?”

“It’s lifted a bit, but everything abdomen down. Cramping. Pain.”

“And it started suddenly?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Do you want Mr. Baudelaire to remain in the room while I examine you?” His question made Beatrice realise the exact nature of his exam, and she looked to Bertrand who had gone a pale shade.

“Only if he wants.” He met her gaze, paused, and nodded.

“I’ll stay.”

She felt the coolness of a damp rag against her thighs to wipe away excess blood. Beatrice turned her face against the hard pillow and shut her eyes, reminding herself that she certainly owed Bertrand a very large favor for staying and enduring. It was not his place, she knew, but their close friendship seemed unwavering even now.

Dr. Bartow was silent during the exam, and Beatrice tried not to count the seconds as they ticked by in agonizing slowness. What felt like eternity passed in which she mentally recited what poetry she could bring to mind, if only for the distraction. She was midway through an anthology of Edgar Allen Poe when she felt the warm of the blanket being tucked back around her and Dr. Bartow retreated from between her legs.

“I’d like to run some tests.” He declared after a moment in which Beatrice opened her eyes to study the older man’s face quite clearly.

“What sort of tests?”

He paused, and Beatrice frowned.

“You must have an idea already. Your expression gives you away, doctor.”

He frowned at her, peeling his gloves away and disposing of them in a nearby hazard bin. He glanced at Bertrand first, then back to her.

“Beatrice, I’m going to ask this as delicately as possible.” He began gently. “Is there any chance you might be pregnant?”

Beatrice felt the air leave her lungs.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if –“

“No, no, I heard what you asked.” She cut him quickly off, her earlier panic returning nearly ten fold. “I don’t – I thought – _what?”_

“You think she had a miscarriage.” Bertrand spoke up quietly at her side, and Beatrice felt the colour drain from her face.

“Not quite.” Dr. Bartow corrected. “I didn’t see anything too indicative of that. Bleeding this early in a pregnancy is common and could just be a small side effect of the activities you were engaged in earlier. The pain as well. Cramping is an unfortunate sign.”

“I can’t be pregnant.” Beatrice whispered fiercely.

“I’d like to run some tests, but I think you very well might be.” He paused. “I’ll let you consider, and a nurse will be in to get a blood sample and hook you to a fluid drip. A precaution.”

She only nodded numbly as he stepped from the room. She stared blankly at her hands tangled in the rough, white fabric of the blanket across her. Her mind spun in every direction until she was dizzy, her emotions a turbulent storm in which she felt pulled in every direction. A ship, crashing hard onto the shoreline after being tossed and turned in relentless waves.

“Breathe, Beatrice.” Bertrand’s soft voice reminded her, and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She found his hand in hers again and he squeezed gently as she dragged her gaze up to meet his.

“Bertrand, I can’t. I can’t be pregnant.”

“Are you absolutely certain?”

Her stomach twisted, churned, and while she had been hopeful Bertrand would at least say something to convince her otherwise, she found herself shaking her head.

“No, but – I mean –“ She scowled; for all her eloquent writings, words seemed to be failing her. “Surely there’s other reasons why and how and I can’t fathom being _pregnant_.”

“Why not? I think you’d make a great parent.”

Beatrice shot him a withering look, and he smiled ever softer.

“Stop panicking before the doctor even confirms it. It will be all right, Bea. Now relax. I’ll see what I can do about finding you some tea.”

She nodded quietly in thanks, staring at his back until the door closed behind him and she was left alone. Alone with her thoughts and the rising panic in her chest. She turned over on her side, curling up beneath the blanket with her fingers worrying a frayed edge of it. The word _pregnant_ rang in her mind like a bell, clear as day, the storm of her emotions a constant. She was vaguely aware of the nurse coming to draw her blood, to hook her to a drip of clear fluids, but everything felt as if she was experiencing it from far away. That it wasn’t truly her, that she was a bystander to this mess of a show.

Bertrand returned, bringing the promised tea. Decaffeinated, Beatrice noted the moment it touched her throat.

Together they sat in silence, and even when the doctor returned to confirm his earlier suspicions Beatrice couldn’t bring herself to react.

_You’re pregnant, Beatrice._

She felt like she was going to be sick.

_You’re pregnant, Beatrice._

She swallowed back the bile collecting in her throat, but the sharp prick of tears at her eyes refused to go away. She wiped furiously at them with the back of her hand. Her work, her dedication to the organization felt ripped out from beneath her, replaced by the small parasite clinging to her for life. A harsh way of putting it the softer side of her mind poke up, but Beatrice couldn’t care in that moment. She felt as if things were floating away from her, out of reach, her life suddenly stalling because of the life growing somewhere beneath her skin.

_Oh, stars._

The doctor left after adjusting her fluids for vitamins and a promise of an overnight stay to monitor her. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, even when Bertrand excused himself to call Kit who would likely be distraught and fretting. He promised not to tell her any details of Beatrice’s newfound condition, only that she would be all right. Hopefully. If she didn’t lose her mind. She wasn’t entirely certain that was out of the cards.

“Bea.”

Her head whipped up. The name was familiar, and the voice was not Bertrand’s. Looking slightly ruffled and wearing an expression of concern, Beatrice felt any greeting die in the back of her throat, turning to ash to leave a bitter taste on her tongue.

Lemony Snicket frowned at her in the way only Lemony could do, closing the door behind him. Beatrice’ gaze followed him sharply as he took up the seat Bertrand had vacated.

“Are you all right? Bertrand called.”

_Traitor_.

“Fine.” She managed, though her usual voice felt strained, tight. Lemony’s frown did not go away as he offered his hand out to her silently. Instinctively Beatrice took it, finding warmth in the simple embrace. Her eyes began to burn again.

“Beatrice, tell me you’re all right.” He said, again, almost pleading. His expression was worried, afraid, an expression Beatrice had only ever seen in regards to her own well being. Certainly Lemony would face down certain death in any situation, but when it came to her – oh, an entirely different Lemony emerged for her eyes only. The sharp change and aura of kindness and warmth nearly made her break down again.

“I think so.” She offered in response, trying to fathom some sort of way to tell him. To explain. To make sense of how the evening had turned so swiftly into something greater. For the first time in a very long time (but not for the first time that night) words seemed to fail her. Lemony leaned forward in a gesture of softness and kissed her forehead, pressing his temple to hers.

“That isn’t an answer.” He remarked, and Beatrice felt her heart jump somewhere in the back of her throat. “Whatever it is, we’ll make it better. Bertrand didn’t give any details but you’re upset and I’m certain whatever it is we’ll sort it out. We’re all quite clever and have endless resources so even if you’ve come down with some sort of jungle fever I’m sure we can speak to Montegomery and find out the source, or-

“Lemony.” She said sharply, ending his ramble. He looked worried; she couldn’t remember a time when he’d worn such a lamentable expression. “Enough. Please.”

Her fingers tightened in his. Right. Perhaps better to treat it like a bandage and rip it off quickly to lessen the blow. At least the logically part of her brain that was functioning at the moment told her. She found it much harder to put it into action. She couldn’t quite look at him, worried it would make it even more difficult. There would be no keeping it from him, she knew, but the better part of her had begun to worry. To fear his reaction, to worry he might do something completely _Lemony_ and it would break her further.

She swallowed thickly, drawing courage as she sat a bit straighter, clutching a pillow to her chest. A shield. Armor to protect herself. The hand in his tightened again.

“It seems I’ve come down with a long lasting side effects of previously enjoyed activities between you and I and it only just manifested itself earlier this evening with very alarming symptoms that I fear are only going to get worse as time wears on if I recall correctly. Through no error in our own attempts at safety and caution, I’ve taken ill with uncertain future consequences that could either be very fortunate, or quite unfortunate.”

“Beatrice.” Lemony cut in when she paused for breath, and her jittering fingers stilled.

Right. To the point.

“I’ve been informed recently that we’re to be parents, Lem. I’m pregnant.”

There was a long settling silence between them, and Beatrice could see his mind working out some logical response as his face turned about three shades lighter than before. No response came immediately except the rather blank stare he offered while his vast mind tried to comprehend the facts suddenly lain before him which were not so easily ignored. Beatrice felt on edge as she waited, the seconds stretching into eons in the silence between them.

Then, without warning, Lemony stood. Beatrice felt her chest tighten, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She felt herself holding her breath again, balanced on the edge of a figurative cliff as she waited for him to do something. Anything. Speak. An acknowledgement, even if it was just as terrified as her own reaction previous. Validation that he had understood, even.

Instead, she watched Lemony Snicket stride unsteadily straight out the door.


	2. five and a half weeks (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> babies, bats, and broken things. ( in which lemony is slightly less of an ass )

An overnight stay in the hospital did nothing for Beatrice’s nerves. Dr. Bartow had released her early that morning with medication, instructions, and all sorts of things she couldn’t bring herself to read just yet. Pamphlets about her options including adoption and termination, both which only made her sick to her stomach even further. Bertrand, bless him, walked with her from the hospital to her flat, remarking on the weather, the nice flowers that were coming in along the window boxes of some buildings, and generally everything that wasn’t the elephant in the room.

For that she was grateful, but it did little to draw her mind away from things just yet. She felt raw, as if someone had taken a wire brush to her entire body. Lemony’s clear and present rejection had only added to it (and quite honestly, was more of a reason behind her silence than the thought of the tiny life now brewing).

“Do you want me to come up with you?” Bertrand offered when they reached her building, and for the first time since the night previous she turned to look at him. She hadn’t told him about Lemony and he hadn’t needed to ask; somehow he already knew, understood.

“I think I just need some time to rest, to think. You’ve been incredibly kind and helpful, Bert. I appreciate it more than you know.”

“Of course. You know I’m always here for you. Everyone is. You have an army at your back, whatever your decision is.”

Beatrice leaned forward and hugged him fiercely, a gesture he returned ten fold. Bertrand was a steady rock in her hurricane of a storm, unyielding and strong when she wasn’t certain she could be herself. She didn’t deserve hi friendship she considered, but was far too grateful he had chosen to trust her. She’d trust him with her life, she knew, and he the same.

“Thank you.” She murmured. “I’ll phone you after I’ve had a nap. Just – I’d like to keep it between us for now, still.”

“Absolutely.” He smiled in kind. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

“Go get some rest. You look like hell.”

He laughed briefly, offering another warm smile before he bade her farewell. Beatrice slipped inside her building and into the elevator. She was grateful for the silence this early as she made her way to her own flat.

The things sent home with her from hospital went on the table to be looked at later, and she locked the door firmly behind her. Old habits. Morning light drifted in through the curtains to illuminate her little place. Cozy. Warm. It was her haven, a place where the organization did not touch. A place to retreat. Could she truly imagine it invaded by an infant?

Inhaling deeply to settle herself, Beatrice threw her jacket onto the back of a nearby chair and went through the process of stripping away every layer of clothing from the previous night. A shower would make things better, she hoped. Scrubbing her skin until she was red as a lobster and smelled of her favorite lavender soap. Until every lingering scent of the antiseptic from the hospital no longer clung to her like a second skin. She hated hospitals.

Nausea still lingered, and Beatrice couldn’t quite tell if it was from the baby (stars, how strange it sounded in her head) or her uncertainty at the future ahead. Toast sounded good, though, and she remembered Bartow saying something about eating whatever she could keep down, no matter what it was. She set the kettle on to boil and rummaged through her rather large stash of tea to find the few collections without caffeine, settling on a green herbal. It wasn’t far from her normal morning routine, puttering about the kitchen. She’d have some tea, breakfast, and settle in with either a book to read or a notebook to write in for an hour or so until work demanded her attention.

Work. The organization. _Stars_.

Groaning in frustration, Beatrice ate her toast quickly without any butter, only loads of the strawberry jam in her fridge. Sipping her tea, she plucked a few of the bits of melon from a container in the fridge and crossed to the window of her living room. Hefting it open, she set the bits of melon out on the ledge and waited, fingers curling around the warmth of her tea mug.

A few minutes passed, before she was graced with a small screech and the almost-crash landing of a bat onto the windowsill. He wasn’t large by any means, the creature was still growing. He made a noise of delight at the breakfast Beatrice had set out for him, and let her happily scratch his furry head while he nibbled on them.

“At least I’ve got you.” She murmured. The bat, who still had no name, chirped softly around it’s mouthful of melon and she smiled fondly. Bats had taken over as one of her many passions, the creatures often too misunderstood. She had started training a select few as message carriers, except this one. This one she had nursed back to health after he’d fallen as a kit, and he’d formed too close of an attachment to be permanently released. She wasn’t certain if others would be as kind if a bat landed on their shoulder one evening.

Exhaustion crept deeper into her bones; she hadn’t slept in the hospital at all. Now everything seemed to be catching up to her at once, her body begging her to sleep. She didn’t have the willpower to deny it. Closing the window, she gathered the bat into her hand and put him in the large cage in the darker part of the room to roost for the day. Her teacup went into the sink, and Beatrice practically fell into her bed without so much as a second thought.

Her mind filled of bats and babies in a very surreal series of dreams.

Feeling marginally better after her nap, Beatrice glanced at the analog clock on her night stand. 5:32pm. She blinked – had she really slept that long? The nausea had abated for the time being, though she still felt somewhat off. She wondered vaguely if that would be the new normal for the next nine months, which drew her mind back to the pamphlets she’d dumped on the table earlier.

Her stomach growled it’s want for food; clearly her plan to remain in bed wasn’t going to happen. With a frustrated sigh, she rolled out of bed and grabbed her robe to tug on.

“You’re awake.”

Stepping through to the living room Beatrice immediately jerked, instinctively alert and ready to fight the intruder – but it was only Lemony in his favorite armchair of hers, her pamphlets from earlier a pile in his lap.

“You broke into my flat.”

“You gave me a key.” He reminded her, frowning. “How are you feeling?”

“As well as to be expected.” She stared at him, almost surprised to see him. There had been a small part of her that had assumed he’d be out of town by then, which spoke volumes about how strange their relationship together had become. “You’ve found your ability to speak again.”

“Bea, I’m –“

“If you say you’re sorry, Lemony Snicket, I’ll throw you out that bloody window.”

A pause.

“I offer my sincerest apologies for my earlier behavior at the events of the evening previous; I was remiss in my actions.”

“Stop being an ass.”

Beatrice turned to the kitchen and rummaged a moment; nothing sounded particularly good despite her urgent hunger, though she continued for the sake of ignoring the writer sat in her flat.

“We should talk.” Lemony spoke again as she set the kettle on to boil.

“You made yourself perfectly clear last night, I should think.” She barely afforded him a glance, teeth grit together. She hadn’t put much thought to the situation beyond that particular day, but last evening had afforded her plenty of time to consider her options. Alone. Since he had deemed it so unneeded for him to be there.

“In my defense, you took me by surprise.”

“And you think I was in any way expecting it?”

Despite herself, Beatrice found herself making two mugs of herbal tea (which she knew Lemony did not prefer, but the small, petty part of her delighted in it). Lemony was quiet as she made them up to each of their preferred styles before dropping his onto the table near him. He caught her by the wrist to keep her from immediately escaping.

“You’re pregnant.”

“As I told you last night, yes.”

“With a child.”

“No, actually it’s a velociraptor – _yes,_ Lemony, a child. Ours. And I’m bloody well terrified!” She snapped the last bit harsher than she meant, but it got him to release her wrist. She moved to sit on the sofa at the end furthest from him, curling her legs beneath her.

“What do you want to do?”

“You ask that like it’s an easy decision.” She remarked bitterly.

“Isn’t it?”

“Neither of us are cut out as parents – look at our lives, Lem. We’re volunteers. Our priority is with VFD. I love you, fiercely, and I’ve never imagined a future without you in it. That future just didn’t include this.”

“Which only proves they’d be one of the most protected infants in the world, surely.”

Beatrice stared at him again.

“You sound like you actually want to do this.”

“You don’t?”

“This isn’t one of your stories, Lemony. You can’t just come and go as you please or when the inspiration or mood strikes. If you’re going to bail out midway through because you’re bored or not interested anymore, then do it _now_ and save us both the trouble.”

“You think so little of me to assume I would ever be bored of a life with you?”

He stood and reached to his coat draped across the back of the chair. He dug in the pocket for a moment, producing something she couldn’t quite see until he moved to sit near to her. He presented a small, plush bat with black fur and bright eyes, offering it out between them.

“You know I’ve always envisioned us together since you crashed quite literally into my life. The news last evening caught me off guard and I admit to being wrong in my immediate and sudden response. But a child, much less one blessed enough to have you as a mother, is worth _everything_ to me.”

She stared at the plush bat for a long moment, taking it from him with delicate fingers. Her eyes burned at his sudden response, though it did not sate her urge to punch him for running away last night. She stared at the adorable, unblinking creature that so carefully mirrored the live one roosting in his cage just feet away.

“Besides,” Lemony added with a bit more humor in his tone. “someone had to make an honest woman out of me.”

Despite herself, Beatrice snorted a watery laugh. He reached up gingerly to brush away the stray tear a the corner of her eye, cupping her face as he did.

“I love you. Neither of us envisioned this possibility, but I think we would be very remiss in not giving it a chance.” He paused, the corners of his mouth tilting down. “And if by the time comes you or we decide that things aren’t . . . that they will not work out, we can be certain they go to a home who can shower them will so much love and affection they’ll never want for anything.” He murmured. “I’ve never wanted kids. Not until you. Not until now.”

Beatrice leveled her gaze with him, clutching the stuffed bat to her chest.

“How long did it take you to write and rehearse that?”

A beat.

“Long enough.”

Beatrice leaned forward and kissed him then and almost immediately his fingers dove into her hair to draw her closer. Kissing Lemony was always a delight, but something seemed sealed in her kiss to him. That yes, they would try. Her confidence in her abilities as a parent (and Lemony’s) were wavering at best, but they had time at the very least. Time to learn. He seemed sincere, however, and Beatrice trusted him. She hoped she would not regret it. Nothing else seemed to matter, though. She loved Lemony. He loved her. Things would sort themselves out.

The minute he drew away to catch his breath, Beatrice punched him hard in the arm. He yelped and frowned, clutching the spot with a wounded look.

“That was for last night. You absolute ass.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My threat of you through the window still stands.” She warned, softer. Her tea forgotten, Beatrice curled herself against Lemony. She fit neatly into his side, his arm curling around her protectively. She stared at the stuffed bat, turning it over in her hands and fluffing its fur about the edges of it’s face.

“I don’t want to tell anyone.” She murmured after a long moment. “Not yet. I want to make sure it - . . . that things are right and healthy. Just between us for now. Not even Jacques or Kit. Bertrand swore he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I trust him.” Lemony replied gently, and was quiet for another moment to the effect Beatrice thought he’d fallen asleep. Then he spoke again: “You’ll need a bigger flat.”

She sighed.

“Unfortunately.”

“Good thing I have a proper house, then.”

That caught her attention enough to sit up and look at him again.

“You can’t honestly expect ---”

“I can and do.” He cut across her. “It hasn’t – it’ll need some cleaning up, but it’s untouched. And needs newer memories. There’s plenty of space, it’s safe, and you’re already familiar with it from when we were kids.”

The Snicket home had been largely unbothered since his parents’ deaths some years previous while they’d still all been in school. Jacques had cleaned it up, but had left it undisturbed for Lemony as it had been left to him in the wills, and neither Jacques or Kit had the desire for such a large space. Beatrice had fond memories of it, having spent several summers with the three Snicket siblings within it’s walls and grounds.

“Alright.” Beatrice conceded quietly. “But we can’t just run off and move. Your brother might not mind, but Kit will know something’s up.”

“Of course. It needs dusted and cleaned and things arranged, but there’s time.” He hummed quietly. Beatrice fell back against his side, head against his shoulder. Exhaustion was beginning to creep it’s way back into her, the tendrils of her earlier sleep coming back to haunt her with a vengeance.

“Will you read?” She asked quietly, and Lemony obliged without further comment. He plucked up the book on the coffee table and flipped to the marked page, reading exactly where they’d left off four nights ago. Beatrice felt lulled by his voice, and she let the wave of tiredness take her back into her strange realm of dreams.

Would things be okay? Probably not for some time. But Lemony had agreed to weather the storm with her. Part of her worried, of course. It always did. Lemony’s mind was strange in ways not even she could understand, but she knew his love for her was unwavering.

Things would likely not be okay for a very long time. But they would manage.

They always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, lemony will eventually return to his garbage ways at some point because he's a hot mess and this story would not be the same without it. also, olaf will be arriving shortly ( as a sad garbage man instead of an evil garbage man ). please share your thoughts/comments with me! <3


	3. nine weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> outed.

Music floated around the room, filling up the spaces between dancing couples and guests enjoying a drink or two by the bar. It was a thriving evening, and Beatrice was grateful the nausea she’d suffered the past several days had abated long enough to enjoy it (honestly, how was it morning sickness if it lasted nearly all day?) She gazed about the room at large as the song ended and the band on the small rise of a stage warmed up for another. She smoothed invisible wrinkles in her beaded red gown, adjusting the microphone in front of her to a more suitable height. The first few notes struck up behind her, and Beatrice smiled serenely as she sang.

“ _I recall the days that I was single, used to flirt, fool around and mingle. Then you came along and suddenly it changed completely_ . . . “

Another sweep of her gaze around the room, shining brilliantly beneath the lighting above her. It was difficult to pick out faces in the crowd because the dim lighting elsewhere – though as always, she tried not to let it be entirely obvious that she was looking for someone.

“ _Now some girls fall, and others keep on playin'. Forget the now and keep on yesterdayin'. Now I know it's wrong, you came along, I changed completely_ . . .”

A twirl. A smile. Beatrice was in her element.

“ _Darling do you know, the sky performs a show each and every night before I sleep. When I look up at the stars, in the galaxy near or far, I'm always with you baby, wherever you are ._. .”

She was not ignorant of her looks. How easily she drew stares from anyone in the room. It was a blessing in a sense that it could often be worked in her favour for the good of the organization in general uses, like that particular evening.

“ _I look at you and I sure see a genius. It's kinda crazy but you don't think I mean this, you filled up my heart and I know that I changed completely_ . . .”

Except she was off duty that particular evening – she just couldn’t resist a bit of showing off.

“ _Darling do you know, the sky performs a show each and every night before I sleep. When I look up at the stars, in the galaxy near or far, I'm always with you baby, wherever you are_ . . .”

Even if it was only for Kit.

“ _If I'm alone I still feel protected by your love, it's never misdirected. When you came along, I'm happy my life changed completely. I'm talkin' to you, you filled up my heart and I know that I changed completely_. . .”

The audience applauded and she gave a graceful bow, retreating from the stage. Almost instantly she was swept up into a dance by strong arms as the band struck up another tune. She laughed, rolling her eyes as Jacques dragged her out onto the floor.

“Wonderfully done as always, Beatrice.” He grinned, twirling her in her place. The world spun and she offered a slender arch of her brow.

“Cheeky. Don’t try to butter me up to get to your sister.”

“You wound me.”

“No, but Kit might.”

“Kit might what now?” Kit had appeared between a pair of dancers to interject between her brother and Beatrice. Jacques frowned at her, but she cut him off. “I’m still angry with you.”

“For making you do your job? How dare I.”

“Oh, make yourself useful and go get us drinks.” She waved a dismissive hand at him, worming her way between them to take his place with Beatrice.

“A root beer float for me.” Beatrice added, drawing Kit closer. Jacques rolled his eyes, but disappeared as fast as Kit had appeared. She turned her attention to her new dance partner. “And how is our birthday girl?”

“Brilliant.” She beamed happily, swaying in time to the music. “Everyone’s here, it’s a beautiful night, and I couldn’t ask for more.”

“I’m glad.”

Even Lemony had made an appearance; he seemed hesitant to let Beatrice out of his sight, she had noticed. She could feel his eyes on her even then, knowing he hadn’t moved from where she’d left him at the bar to go and sing. Likely talking with Jacques now. Bertrand had come along as well, and she was certain even some other volunteers were due a bit later. Montgomery, Jacquelyn, Gustav, Larry – even Olaf, who Beatrice had noticed lingering more and more with their group. Usually he didn’t bother much outside of drama practices and performances or other regular training sessions, so it was quite strange to see him standing just to Lemony’s left nursing the same drink for over an hour.

She suspected it had something to do with the woman currently dancing in her arms.

“. . . are you even listening to me?”

Beatrice blinked, twisting her head back around to her partner.

“Hm? Yes, sorry – I was just distracted.”

“Clearly. You’ve been that a lot lately.” Kit pointed out not unkindly, and Beatrice’s lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t certain how much longer she and Lemony would be able to keep their secret, especially when she found her clothes getting a bit tighter around the waist.

“Sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Kit did a spin in Beatrice’s arms and Beatrice caught her elegantly.

“Clearly. You haven’t been yourself in weeks.”

“I’ve been tired from training is all. Between that and tending to my bats, I’ve forgotten what a good night’s sleep actually is.” She murmured. Not a complete lie – she hadn’t been sleeping well. Stress was a major factor, caused by the gestating child somewhere in her middle.

“Can I ask you something?” Kit prodded again, and Beatrice arched a brow. Nevertheless, she nodded for Kit to continue. “Are you and Lem okay?”

“What? Of course we are.”

“He hasn’t stopped staring at you all night. Like you hung the moon in the sky.”

“He usually does that, Kit. I can’t get him to stop, really.”

“There’s something else, though.”

Beatrice felt the bile rising to the back of her throat. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably with the sensation she usually associated with her frequent morning sickness. The swaying on the dance floor wasn’t helping. Everything was suddenly far too hot, there were far too many people. Swallowing thickly, she glanced around quickly.

“Sorry, I just – I’ll be right back.”

Before Kit had the chance to argue or ask questions, Beatrice made a beeline for the door just to the side of the stage, the one that let out into the side alley of the jazz club. She practically gulped down the fresh air as it hit her, soothing her clammy skin and quelling some of the nausea until she no longer felt like her dinner was about to make an immediate return.

She leaned against the brick exterior, letting the coolness wash over her as she tried to keep herself from losing her stomach.

“You’re really making this difficult.” She muttered to the small life growing in her, though with no real malice behind it. The past few weeks had been difficult enough, and it seemed her child would inherit it’s father’s abilities for irritation and annoyance.

The door to the alley swung open again and she flinched instinctively, brows knitting together when Olaf stepped out into the dim lighting.

“Are you alive out here, Anwhistle?” He frowned.

“I just needed a bit of fresh air.” She replied tersely. His frowned remained, gaze raking over her half leaning against the wall. Swirling the glass of liquid in his hand, he offered it out to her. She made a face.

“Relax. It’s a mint julep. Without the fun.” He forced it into her sweaty hands. “It’ll help with the morning sickness. Ginger too, but the bartender might’ve punched me if I asked for that in a drink.”

Beatrice felt the colour drain from her face.

“I – what?”

“You weren’t yourself in rehearsals.” He prodded, taking several steps away before pulling a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it once it rested between his lips. “I’ve seen it before. Nice try, though. Does Snicket know?”

“No. Yes. I mean – Lemony, yes. The others, no.” She said quietly, before she lifted the glass to her lips. A small sip and mint cooled her mouth instantly. She took another swallow, bigger this time, and after several long moments she felt the nausea begin to fade. Or at least, the mint was taking off the sharp edges of the feeling. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Not my business.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, turning his head away from her to blow smoke in the opposite direction. “Figured you were keeping it to yourself for a reason. Not that you’ll be able to hide it for long, I imagine.”

“I know.” Beatrice murmured almost miserably, tilting her head back against the brick. The mint was helping immensely, and for the first time in public she let her free hand drift across her abdomen. There was only the softest of swells there, not noticeable because she’d chosen to wear a fairly loose fitting dress that evening for that sheer purpose. But eventually it would be more of a swell. She still needed to sort out how to deal with being a volunteer when that time came. She’d been putting it off for obvious reasons, though time would not be on her side for much longer.

“I don’t want to take away from their birthday by telling them tonight.” Beatrice added after several long moments, in which Olaf had smoked nearly half his cigarette. “This is Jacques’ and Kit’s night.”

“Give Kit time and I’m sure she’ll be three sheets to the wind and wouldn’t remember even if you did tell her.” Olaf observed. Beatrice studied him, his figure half shadowed by the dim streetlamps and the one faded bulb above the alley door.

“If you want to ask her to dance, do it.”

Olaf inhaled so sharply on his cigarette that he launched into a coughing fit. Pounding his chest with his fist, he flicked the butt of it to the ground with a small shower of ash sparks, fixing Beatrice with a sharp look.

“I mean it.” She added at his expression. “You won’t know unless you ask.”

“I can’t dance.”

“Rubbish. We’ve danced on stage before and you were marvelous. Don’t make excuses with me, darling. I’ll match you tit for tat.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyeing her sharply.

“Fine, Anwhistle. I’ll make you a deal. You tell our friends about baby Snicket and I’ll ask Kit Snicket to dance.”

Beatrice balked.

“You’re absolutely awful, you know that?”

He grinned. “You started it.”

She drained the rest of the liquid in her glass, even biting into one of the mint leaves that had garnished it. There had been no alcohol in it of course, though she half wished it had, if only to give her courage.

“Not tonight.” She settled on. “Let them enjoy their night without me taking the spotlight away. But if you go in there and ask Kit to dance, Lemony and I will invite you to dinner when we do announce it.”

“He isn’t cooking, is he?”

“Of course not. I’d prefer my food not charred to ash.”

“Deal, then.” He pushed off the wall the same time she did, offering out his arm. “Shall we?”

Empty glass in one hand, Beatrice looped her arm through his and nudged him with her shoulder.

“You can thank me when you two start dating.”

The sounds and sights and smell of the jazz club sweep over her as she ducks back in. The band is playing a softer song and there are fewer couples on the dance floor, leaving them a clear path back toward the bar. Other volunteers had arrived and were mingling around one corner of the bar, Kit amongst the lot of them. It was Kit who spotted the pair of them first, and excused herself from the throng to meet them halfway.

“Beatrice! Are you all right?”

“Right as rain.” She smiled fondly, glancing at Olaf out of the corner of her eye. Kit didn’t look convinced in the least.

“Dance with me.”

Olaf blurted it out suddenly, loudly, and Kit blinked owlishly at him.

“What?”

“Uh, I mean – would you _please_ like to dance, maybe, with me?”

_Smooth, Olaf._

Kit’s brows knitted together neatly as she studied the offered hand to her. Beatrice’s lips curled up at the corners in a hidden smile, unsurprised when Kit placed her hand neatly in his.

“All right.”

“Really?”

Olaf glanced at Beatrice as Kit wrapped her fingers tighter in his. Beatrice merely let her smile do the talking, watching as they joined the other couples out on the dance floor. Beatrice herself fled toward the bar, feeling Lemony practically emerge from the shadows nearby to take to her side.

“You’re like a vampire coming out of the darkness.” She mused, dark hair falling across her shoulder as she regarded him. Lemony’s lips twitched.

“Would you prefer if I were? We’d no longer be able to go out for Italian, though I must say we do our best work in the cover of night.”

Beatrice hid a smile, quietly requesting another mint julep minus the alcohol. It had settled her stomach enough and she wasn’t brave enough to risk a root beer float just yet. Lemony arched a brow at the order that she ignored, casting a glance back out at the dancefloor where she could just see Kit and Olaf moving through the other couples.

“Playing matchmaker?”

Beatrice looked back at him.

“Only helping things along. He adores your sister, much as you and Jacques hate to admit.”

“I would rather admit a great many other things than that particular fact.”

“Well, you’ll have to endure it. I invited him for dinner.” She murmured over the rim of her glass. His eyes narrowed.

“Beatrice.”

“Lemony.”

“ _Dinner_?”

“We made a bargain. I’ll tell you later.” She nudged him, stepping closer to his side in half an effort to distract him. It seemed to work, his free hand not curled around his drink coming up to twirl an errant curl of hers around his fingers. Beatrice smiled warmly and turned her attention to whatever the others were discussing a few feet away, their voices still quite loud over the din of the music.

“Don’t be an idiot, Jacques. You can’t go alone.” Bertrand was saying, frowning at the other volunteer.

“It would be an easier case with just one volunteer. In and out and nothing will be amiss.” He replied sharply. Montgomery looked entirely disinterested with the conversation, while Jacquelyn and Gustav both looked like they wanted to interrupt.

“And if something happens? At least take another along with you.”

“Fine, I’ll take Beatrice.”

“ _NO_!”

The words had barely left Jacques’ mouth before both Bertrand and Lemony spoke up, loudly and quickly at the exact same time. Beatrice fought the urge to cover her face with her hand, lips pressing into a thin line as she regarded the pair of them with an incredulous look.

_You idiots._

The others were looking between she, Bertrand, and Lemony as if they’d suddenly suggested going to the moon. Or sprouted extra heads.

“—I mean, I uh, I wanted her to come with me on another mission—”

“—she and I have other plans—”

“—I just—”

“—we were—”

It was a disaster watching Bertrand and Lemony both try to cover their mistake, furiously throwing looks at each other. Beatrice felt a surge of emotions – frustration and anger the most prominent. She wasn’t a piece of glass to be shelved on a cabinet and kept away from trouble. She was more than capable of protecting herself and continuing her work, though rationally she could hear Dr. Bartow’s voice furiously protesting in the back of her mind.

_Danger isn’t good for a growing child. You need to take it easy._

Right. Sure. Easy.

“What are you idiots babbling about?” Kit remarked as she and Olaf returned as Bertrand and Lemony dissolved into furious bickering. Both appeared to be out of breath and if she knew any better, Olaf’s cheeks had turned a faint shade of pink. Kit seemed unable to stop smiling through her confusing expression at her brother and Bertrand.

“Nothing.” Beatrice covered quickly, though it seemed futile against the others, especially Jacques’ piercing look. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I knew there was something you weren’t telling us.” Kit frowned, whirling at Beatrice. “Are you two getting married?”

Beatrice balked.

“No!”

“Yes.”

Lemony had answered the exact same time as her insistent denial. She turned to him with a sharp look – not something she had expected. He didn’t quite meet her gaze, leveling his expression at his sister instead. A conversation for later, then.

“Have you two been drinking?” Montgomery teased, though Beatrice couldn’t bring herself to smile and laugh it off. Only Olaf and Bertrand seemed to understand, and both were looking anywhere but them. Right. Peace couldn’t have possibly lasted with this lot and despite her utterly firm stance on keeping it to them, Beatrice let her hand drift down between she and Lemony to take his.

“I can’t drink.” She said before she lost the courage, and brought their entwined fingers up to rest across her abdomen. It was the first time he had touched the soft swell and she felt his breath catch from their proximity. Again, another conversation later. “I’m pregnant.”

There was a long moment in which the only sound was the music and the chattering of other people in the club – which was still quite loud. It was Kit who reacted first and without words – she stepped forward to wrap an arm around the both of them at once, dragging them into a hug.

“Oh my _stars_.” She gasped sharply, dissolving into a myriad of happy noises Beatrice couldn’t quite decipher. She met Lemony’s gaze over the top of Kit’s head and squeezed his hand tighter within her own.

_No turning back now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song beatrice is singing is called 'completely' by caro emerald. i highly recommend giving her stuff a listen because it's basically peak beatrice. hope you enjoyed!


	4. twelve weeks

 

“I’m not an invalid you know.”

“None of us ever said anything about that. We just want you and your little one to be safe.”

Beatrice scowled faintly at Kit, who only smiled fondly and held out a teacup to Beatrice, who took it begrudgingly. Her nose wrinkled at the smell and taste, the bitterness nearly vile on her tongue before the mint flavor took over and soothed her churning stomach.

“It doesn’t mean I can’t help with things. I’ll go stark raving mad.”

Kit fixed her with a sharp look, doctoring her own cup of tea and sitting down across from Beatrice at the table.

The kitchen had finally cleared of paint fumes and it was the first time that week anyone had allowed Beatrice inside. It looked a far sight better than when she’d last seen it – the entire house did, quite frankly. Over the course of the week between several volunteers they’d managed to take the Snicket house from abandoned to livable. Many things still needed to be done, but the dust had been cleared, repairs made, and it was finally starting to feel like a proper home despite having not had inhabitants for nearly two decades. All three Snicket siblings seemed more than happy to see it coming back to life again.

“No one expects you to sit out. We’d be in dire straights if you did. But the least we could do for you and Lem was this, irritating as he’s been.”

Beatrice smiled faintly, and took another sip of tea, ignoring the bitterness – or trying to.

“You’ve been massively helpful. I’ve been discussing with Lemony about having a dinner soon for everyone. I think it would be nice.” She murmured. Beatrice had spent time in this home before, albeit very briefly. It was both familiar and now not, with the subtle face lift it had been given. Still, it felt more like a home than her flat had been – now she only had to unpack her things, and Lemony’s (though his was far easier, considering it was a scant few suits and a typewriter compared to all of her things).

“I think it would be.” Kit agreed. “We haven’t all been together in the same room in a while.”

“I’ll sort out a date and let you know. You can bring Olaf.”

Kit ducked her head, hiding her face with a drink of her own tea. Beatrice grinned.

“Going that well, hm?”

“We went to dinner the other evening, yes.” She remarked slowly. “It was nice. He was nice. We were talking about going again at the end of the week.”

“He certainly seems to adore you.” Beatrice smiled warmly. “If he makes you happy, I don’t see why you shouldn’t. We could always double date if I can drag Lemony from his typewriter.”

“Oh, stars – can you imagine the sheer embarrassment if we went on a double date? Lemony wouldn’t leave Olaf alone, I’m sure of it.”

“That would be half the fun, I think.” Beatrice laughed at her friend’s horrified expression.

“Moving on,” Kit murmured, clearly attempting to change the subject. “are you sure you don’t want me to stay over with you tonight?”

“I’m a big girl, Kit. I can handle it.” Beatrice assured. It would be her first evening in the large, empty house, and it would be alone. Lemony was helping Jacques and she surely wasn’t going to trouble Kit. Certainly it was slightly unnerving staying in such a large home by herself, but she imagined the quiet would be nice. A long soak in the tub and a good book as her only company? She could hardly ask for better.

“If you’re sure.” Kit trailed off, and Beatrice reached over to squeeze her hand.

“Absolutely. Don’t worry, I won’t pick up a paint can and start spontaneously snorting the fumes if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not, but thanks for that promise.”

Their conversation fell into the mundane, and after both had finished their tea, Beatrice saw Kit to the door. Storm clouds were beginning to roll in across the distance, thunder echoing across the city. Bidding her friend farewell, Beatrice locked the door swiftly behind her and set her mind to more important ventures – namely which particular book she wanted to start an adventure within for the evening.

The halls were quiet as she climbed the steps to the second floor. Sometimes she felt the home was far too large for simply her and Lemony, but as Kit had reminded her earlier that week, it would prove an excellent meeting place for the organization if needed, and it wasn’t likely to be large for long. Having a baby meant needing space.

“Already so demanding. Between this and your constant craving for peanut butter and bananas, you’re already the boss.” Beatrice murmured aloud to her tiny bump. It wasn’t anything pronounced still, only really there if one knew to look for it. As the carrier of said bump, however, she had started noticing the changes in the mirror quite easily. She received no response of course as she readied for a long soak in the bathtub, which was just fine.

In some aspects, she was still trying to adjust to the idea of being a mother. That someone else was going to rely on her for every aspect of their survival. It was elating and terrifying all at once, beyond anything she’d ever felt. It was difficult to share such feelings as none of her current friend group understood, but in all the books she’d started reading they’d assured her such thoughts were normal. Not that Beatrice had ever been normal of course, but it was comforting to know she wasn’t a lonely soul in her journey.

Lemony had been slightly helpful in his own way, of course, but his work with Jacques had taken him away for going on three days and she hadn’t seen him since.

The bath eased the tension from her weary frame – who knew growing another human could be so utterly exhausting? Drying her hair roughly with a towel she crossed from the bathroom into the bedroom, noting it had started raining outside. Every once in a while lightning would streak across the sky followed shortly by the roll of thunder. She hoped Kit had made it home all right.

Settled in her pajamas, she picked a book at random from the small stash on the nightstand that had yet to be put away on shelves.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

The feeling was intimately familiar in a way she didn’t like. Replacing the book on the top of the stack, Beatrice turned as if she expected someone to be standing behind her – nothing, of course. The feeling remained. Brows furrowed neatly together, she did a slow turn. Still nothing. And yet, the sweeping wave of anxiousness that overtook her was nothing to be ignored. She’d always trusted her gut. It had never steered her wrong. Now that her gut was inhabited by another human, it seemed all the more imperative to listen to it.

Something was wrong.

The house seemed to agree, if possible. It was silent, the only sound coming from the storm raging outside. It seemed like the perfect setting for a novel; Lemony would’ve been pleased. Perhaps she should have taken Kit up on her offer to stay.

Quietly Beatrice crept from the bedroom and out into the hall. On her way she plucked a piece of two by four from a small pile of wood that had been used in repairs earlier in the week, and that she was suddenly grateful for it not having been removed yet. The strange feeling still made her stomach twist uncomfortably here in the hall; barefoot, she padded toward the stairs, and took them slowly down to the first floor.

The feeling increased. The hair on the back of her arms stood on end now, a warning.

A shadow. Soft footsteps on carpet. She swung.

The piece of wood was immediately knocked from her hands as it struck something – not someone. Blocked by a slender sword that seemed to glint every time lightning flashed outside. In the darkness she couldn’t quite see it’s holder, only that it was aiming straight for her and with the intent to kill.

Dodging with several steps back, she tried to find something with which to fight – nothing was within her immediate grasp. Ducking as the sword swung again at her, she launched forward into the shadowed figure with all her might in an attempt to take them down. The figure struggled to remain upright, clearly caught off guard, and the pair went sprawling to the ground. A grunt – a man, Beatrice realized half a second before a fist connected with her jaw and blood spurt into her mouth from a busted lip. Swearing, she rolled away to avoid the second swing.

Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she darted into the nearest room. The library. Bless Snickets and their tendencies to hoard strange things, she thought briefly as she spotted the display of ancient swords on the wall. Grabbing one of the short swords, she jerked it free of it’s hold and brandished it in warning to the figure – no, _figures_ now standing in the doorway.

“Honestly.” The second figure spoke, a female. “We only came to talk.”

“I doubt it.” Beatrice quipped back, and with another flash of lightning it gave her a glimpse of the strange looking pair standing in her library. A woman with a rather strange style of hair, and a man that was bald, but with a massive beard. “People who want to have conversations don’t usually start it with swords.”

Their response was a few steps toward her, brandishing matching swords. Beatrice swung hers in warning. An unfair fight. Oh, how she lamented telling Kit to leave.

The man came at her first, and she parried his first several swings at her. The woman circled around while she fended away the man. Frustrated, Beatrice lashed out with a kick to the man’s stomach that sent him recoiling into the nearest shelf long enough for her to raise her sword to block the woman’s downward strike.

A few clashes of swords and the man had recovered, coming up behind Beatrice to grab her in a choke hold. She hissed at the motion, fingers coming up to claw at his hands to pry them off. The woman grew closer – she launched a kick at her face to keep her at bay, using the continued momentum to swing her leg backward into the man’s crotch. He doubled nearly immediately and she raised her sword to shove the woman back and away, clearing space around her.

“Get out of my house.” Beatrice seethed, slashing the air – a hiss told her she’d made contact with the woman’s arm, slicing clean through the fabric of her hideous whatever she wore. She traded blows with swords with the man, who seemed to be growing more and more irritated the longer their fight wore on.

It was the woman who lashed out in the middle of Beatrice twisting away, punching her squarely in the face. Beatrice stumbled from sheer shock and the pain that bloomed from her jaw and nose, her grip on the sword faltering.

“Enough.” The man growled, and his sword stun the back of her legs as he whacked it hard against them. She stumbled forward and fell to her hands and knees, and the woman kicked the sword away from her immediate grasp. Cold metal pressed against her throat.

“Move and I will kill you.” The woman warned, and for the time being, Beatrice obeyed. Swallowing thickly and trying to ignore the churning of her stomach, she studied the pair as they seemed to recoup from the brief struggle.

“We really did only come to talk. We would have sooner, but your condition proved to be quite a conundrum.” The man murmured, and she felt a surge of protectiveness wrap around her, her fear for her child igniting a dark rage. How dare they.

“Tell me what you want, and get out.” Beatrice ground out between gritted teeth.

“You’re a very clever girl, Beatrice. Very clever. And can do so much better than the fools you choose to give your loyalty to.”

“We can offer you an option far more suited to your desires.”

“You have no idea what I desire.” She replied sharply.

“Oh, but we do. You want freedom. VFD can’t offer you that.”

“And you can?” She spat back. “I have freedom. By doing what’s good and noble in this world.”

The woman laughed, a sharp biting laugh that cut through the air.

“You truly believe that, don’t you? There’s more to the world than noble and evil, Beatrice. Look beyond VFD and you might see that. Join us, and we promise you will. You’ll have your freedom. And your skills will be put to far better use than playing domesticated housewife to a deplorable author.”

Shattering glass drowned out whatever reply Beatrice had on the tip of her tongue. Glass rained down, followed by actual rain now flooding through the broken library window. Three figures all at once dove in, and Beatrice used the distraction to rise and get as far away from pointed swords as she could.

“Get away from her.” That was Kit, brandishing a spyglass. Olaf stood on her left in the same position, the pair of them now standing between the woman and the man, and Beatrice. The third figure had immediately grabbed Beatrice’s arm to distance her further.

“It’s all right.” Bertrand murmured in her ear, and she grabbed his arm. “You’re safe.”

“For now.” The woman remarked, staring past Kit and Olaf to Beatrice. There was a long moment in which no one moved, and then a loud shatter. More glass rained – Lemony and Jacques joined them half a second later, but the man and woman had used the second glass shatter to their advantage. Forgoing their abandoned swords, Beatrice watched as they seemed to disappear into the ground.

Kit and Olaf darted forward as if to strike, but their spyglasses hit thin air. Beatrice already knew with a sinking feeling just how they’d disappeared – the trap door. Everything had happened so fast she’d not had time to process. Down into the tunnels they’d gone.

“Go.” Jacques ordered sharply. Kit and Olaf obeyed without hesitation, dropping down into the trap door after them. Bertrand’s grip tightened on Beatrice’s arm, as if he expected her to go hopping down after them.

“Are you all right?” Lemony demanded, crossing to her. His hand came up to brush what was no doubt a bruise on her face, judging by the dull ache. She tried not to flinch when he brushed the cut on her lip.

“I’m fine.”

His hand curled against her middle, and both hers rested atop his.

“We’re fine.” She amended, glancing from him to Bertrand. “I promise.”

She looked back over at the trap door, where Jacques was shining his spyglass down into for a better view. Beatrice felt a sudden surge of exhaustion, the adrenaline beginning to wear away. The room began to spin, and it was everything she could do not to give in to it.

“I’ve got you.” Lemony murmured, and without warning drew her into his arms. Presumably to carry her upstairs and out of the library and it’s now ruined windows and carpet. She could hear his heart hammering against his chest, the worry clear on his face.

“I’m fine.” She repeated, tilting her head up to look at him. “I can walk.”

“Let me do this.” He replied, and Beatrice fell silent the rest of the walk upstairs and to the bedroom. Even when he finally placed her down on the bed, his hands were roaming her frame to check for injuries until she was certain he’d touched every inch. His gaze met her own.

“You frightened me.”

“It isn’t my fault strange people decided to break in. I didn’t want to get into any sword fights, thank you.” She tried to lighten the mood, but the expression on his face did not falter.

“We’ll find out who they are.” He assured. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’m not incapable.” She said sharply. “I defended myself.”

“I’m very aware of how capable you are, Beatrice.” He replied. “You’re beautiful and brilliant and more than capable. But I cannot rest easy knowing there are people clearly out to get to you, to our child. A child not even capable of self thought yet, but already seems to have enemies.”

Beatrice fell silent for several long moments, in which Lemony drew her closer to press his forehead against hers.

“I need you to be safe.” He whispered fiercely, the first time she had ever heard such a tone from him. She tilted her head just enough to kiss him, a kiss he deepened with a fierce hunger and need that had her dizzy. A kiss that stole her breath away, a kiss that had her yielding to him immediately. Few things could make Beatrice bend – and when Lemony Snicket seemed to want to devour her, it not only made her bend, but made her break. Her fingers came up to tangle in his hair, lips slanted against his.

“It’s all right.” She murmured. “It’s all right, Lemony. I’m here.”

“I know.” He pulled away to bury his face in her neck, in her hair, clinging to her like a drowning man to a life buoy. “I know.”

Sleep would not come to them that evening, Beatrice knew. Better for it, perhaps. Tomorrow they would face the new task of trying to find their enemies. She would not let this be taken from her.

_I had hoped you wouldn’t be sword fighting until you were much, much older little one._

A bittersweet thought given to the child she was certain she would fight tooth and nail to protect. Lemony’s hands drifted across her own, across the tiny plum—sized bump of the life they had created together.

_You’re already loved so very much. I hope you always know that feeling._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a lot of feelings about series 3. and it gave me a lot of fodder for this fic - especially the opera scene. which, for reference, will happen here. with twists :D stay tuned!


	5. thirteen weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lemony and the lemon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fundamentally, in my head this fic features scenes that likely went very differently than they would have in the actual canon verse. This chapter introduces that, and I'm sure you'll realise when even if it's very brief.

“Your kings, led away to death. You will remember what things I suffer, and at what men’s hands because I would not transgress the laws of heaven.”

There’s a great pause.

“This is the bit where you’re being sentenced to death, Baudelaire. You could stand a bit more dramatics.”

Beatrice gave a sharp bark of laughter, dropping her character immediately.

“That’s rich coming from you, Olaf.” She waves a dismissive hand at him. “I could stand here and discuss Antigone’s complex characteristics all day, but you might find yourself lost among the conversation. At any rate, I live. So do you, dear Haemon. It’s meant to be a happy ending. Not the tragic one.”

“The tragic one is all the more better in my opinion.” Olaf replied with an arch of his brow, but was moving across the stage toward her. He plucked two bottles of water up from the scenery still being build, and offered hers out to her. She smiled her thanks as she took several smaller drinks. Bits and pieces of scenery were still being painted and arranged in various positions along the stage, and new curtains were in the process of being hung in the grand part theatre, part opera house. Other actors milled about, scripts in hand and murmuring things between each other while they rested as she and Olaf had been rehearsing their scenes up until that point.

Rehearsals had been going on for nearly three weeks, since before the incident with the strange man and woman in her home. She’d felt unable to attend rehearsals, buried with deep lethargy and an unsettling fear about the return of the man and woman. She hadn’t even been sure she’d take on the role, but in the end it had been prodding from all sides by several friends that had convinced her. That, coupled with the sudden burst of energy she’d felt nearly all week had helped her settle back into her theatrical routine. It felt normal in a way she hadn’t felt in weeks, able to be back in the theatre.

She welcomed the change – and the fact that she could now get through her days without debilitating nausea. Mostly. If she could stay away from eggs. The smell revolted her, something she’d learned the hard way over breakfast three days ago.

“How’d your date go last night?” She asked, changing the subject. Olaf took the question in stride, much to her surprise.

“I’m surprised Kit hasn’t told you all about it.” He remarked at an attempt to rebuke, but Beatrice was hardly perturbed.

“I haven’t spoken to her. Besides, I’d like to hear your point of view.” She pressed, sitting on the edge of a blocking cube to take a break. The rehearsal skirt she was wearing to mimic the dress she’d wear in the true opera bunched about her waist, the band tighter than she remembered. Idly she ran her fingers along the waistband to loosen it, pulling it further up until the pressure let up – unfortunately, it made her look well on her way to an eighty year old soul with their waistband pulled up to nearly her chest. Beatrice found she didn’t quite care.

“It was nice.” He muttered finally, after taking another long drink of water. Beatrice let her gaze drift away from the actors now rehearsing to Olaf instead.

“Only just nice?”

“I don’t _gush_ the way Kit might.” He retorted. “We had dinner and went to a movie. A classic. It was nice. She looked nice.”

“I’m absolutely blown away by your descriptive capabilities.” She deadpanned. Olaf elbowed her in the arm.

“I invited her to come and see the show. She’s not been to the opera before, as you know. I thought she would like it. The ending – she likes happier endings. Not the tragic ones.”

“That she does.” Beatrice hummed in agreement. “I’m sure she’ll love it. She might even bring you flowers.”

Olaf rolled his eyes at her, muttering something she didn’t quite catch under his breath. Her smile never wavered as they sat and rested. Beatrice watched the others rehearsing now, bodies moving across stage with lines and songs between them. She felt truly at home within the theatre; it would sadden her to give it up after the baby was born – until then, she had decided she would take full advantage of being able to perform even as she grew rounder and amassed her own gravitational orbit.

“Speaking of Snickets . . . “ Olaf trailed off and Beatrice followed his gaze to the back of the room where both Kit and Lemony had entered silently. Beatrice stood to join them, Olaf half a step behind – the four met each other at the bottom of the steps that led down from the stage into the orchestra pit and seating beyond.

“You look radiant.” Lemony murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of Beatrice’s mouth. She smiled softly, leaning into his touch.

“You don’t have to say that, you know.”

“But you are.” He offered a rare smile, curling his hand in hers. “Stunning. I could write sagas about your beauty that would fill an entire library.”

“Are you going to start monologuing again, Lem?” Kit mused from beneath Olaf’s arm around her shoulders. “If so, I’m leaving.”

“Don’t worry – _we’re_ leaving.” Beatrice replied on Lemony’s behalf before the author could open his mouth. He snapped it shut at once. “We’ll be late otherwise.”

“Late?”

“I have an appointment with Dr. Bartow.” Beatrice supplied. “Quite frankly I don’t want on that man’s bad side so I suspect we’d best be on time.”

“Good luck.” Kit smiled. Beatrice nodded her goodbyes to them and the other actors, exiting the theatre into the early afternoon sun outside. Despite it’s appearance, the air was crisp and chilled – the last vestiges of summer had clearly abandoned them in favor of the cooler autumn season. Winter would be there before she knew it. Then spring – and a child.

They sat in the back of a nondescript taxi in relative silence, his hand curled atop hers on the seat between them. It was Lemony who spoke first.

“I’ve been thinking –“

“-a dangerous pastime, surely.”

Lemony fixed her with a look and Beatrice only smiled politely back.

“Sorry.” She mused. “Continue.”

“I’ve been offered to go on a mission to the Mortmain Mountains.”

Beatrice felt something icy settle in her chest.

“And?” She pressed.

“It would be for several months because of the nature of the work.”

She bit back the immediate _no_ that wanted to burst forth. They’d agreed. He’d promised. They were in this together. Beatrice couldn’t fathom staying home alone now that she knew there were strange people after her, determined to recruit her to some darker cause. If Lemony left it meant she would be alone in the house again. For some time. She couldn’t ask Kit to stay with her that long, or even Bertrand. Her mind raced to catch up and in its hurry, she nearly missed when he spoke again.

“I declined.”

“-you what?”

“I declined.” He said as if it were the most casual thing. “I informed those that be in no certain terms my place was with my partner, here, and I would not be taking anything that would put me away from the city and from you.”

Beatrice’s eyes stung suddenly. Hormones, she wanted to blame them, and she gave him a wavering smile. Her fingers tightened in his.

“Actually, there was a posting the other day for the newspaper as a theatre critic. I’ve been thinking of taking it on.” He continued, and Beatrice curled against his side as he continued on through the details of whatever job posting he had seen and she listened, feeling happier than she had in some time.

At the hospital, they followed signs to the attached clinic that saw a variety of patients in the city. The waiting room was mostly empty as it always was; the services offered by the clinic were often most used by organization members. Beatrice took the paperwork the registrar gave her to fill out and sat across from the only other patients; an exhausted looking father and his equally exhausted looking son who was lethargic and curled in his father’s embrace as they waited. Beatrice offered a soft empathetic look. Poor thing.

Lemony flipped idly through a magazine dated three months ago as he sat next to her. While her attention was on filling out the forms, she could practically feel the energy that radiated off him. Nervous. Anxious. Bored. All rolled into his usual manner. He hid it well enough, but for someone like Beatrice it was easily felt.

“I’m the one meant to be nervous, you know.” She remarked without looking up from spelling her name.

“I’m not nervous.”

“ _Lemony_.”

“I am a little nervous.” He was quiet after that and she let him be, engrossed in detailing extensive medical history about herself and Lemony who offered very little help except when Beatrice nudged him hard in the ribs to get his attention. Even after she had returned the paperwork to the lady at the desk he still seemed distracted, and Beatrice let her gaze fall back to the sick boy and his father.

They looked remarkably alike, the pair of them. Same ash-blonde hair and dark eyes, though the angles of the boy’s face were far softer. Beatrice wondered what her child would look like. Would it have Lemony’s dark features or hers? Square or round face? She could imagine a hundred different possibilities and none of them felt right in her head the longer she imagined them. As long as they were healthy and happy, Beatrice was content. She’d do everything in her power to ensure the health of her baby – even if it meant taking it easy. Not an easy feat for a volunteer, but she’d give it the old college try at the very least. Already she was willing to go through great lengths to protect it, as evidenced by her small scuffle with the intruders previously.

The boy and his father were called back shortly after, and then they were alone. Lemony’s leg was jumping up and down in place and Beatrice reached over to rest her hand on his knee to attempt to quell it.

“Lemony. It’s a baby. Not a time bomb. You act as if we’re going to walk out of here holding an infant.”

“I don’t think it really sunk in until now.” He murmured, resting his hand atop hers. “Saying it is one thing. Seeing it, being here, it throws a harsh reality on the situation that I did not account for.”

“You’re not regretting it, are you?” She asked, half afraid of the answer. He met her gaze evenly, a look of determination in his eyes Beatrice had seen few times before.

“No. Never. Not with you.”

She didn’t have time to answer as a lovely nurse called her name and they stood in tandem. Her hand tightened in his, a sudden burst of anxiety flickering through her. He was right – there was a certain harsh reality that befell them now, and it was a sharp comparison to where she’d been some weeks ago. She’d never imagined she’d be in a clinic with Lemony about to see the tiny life they’d created for the very first time. It was terrifying and exciting all at once, and Beatrice felt it roll like a great wave inside her chest.

This was not how she’d planned her life to go, but she was determined if anything. She would not regret it, not for a moment, and would face anything – even being a parent – head on, as she did everything else when presented with a challenge. Of course, she’d always felt marginally better having a partner by her side on volunteering, and was very glad to have said partner in her company now for something not quite as dangerous.

They were taken to a small room with a machine that she recognized vaguely. She was grateful she wouldn’t be shoved into a paper gown, at least that particular visit. Just a routine scan, Dr. Bartow had promised. Still. It made her no less anxious as she stretched out on the bed, her fingers still wrapped tightly in Lemony’s.

“How are you feeling? No more incidents?” Dr. Bartow asked before he’d even closed the door from his entrance.

“Better. And, ah, no.” She remarked, thinking back to the intruders. The doctor raised a brow as if he doubted it, but Beatrice gave a charming smile. “No more incidents. Just the usual symptoms I think. According to the books I’ve been looking at.”

A few more questions and Beatrice answered them all truthfully, half distracted as she watched the older man prepare the machine. At his request to lift her shirt she did, exposing the soft swell that signified so much in such a small change. The gel came in contact with her skin and she hissed between clenched teeth at the chill; Dr. Bartow looked at least somewhat apologetic as he swiped the wand across. It was a strange, very weird sensation. Beatrice’s eyes didn’t waver from the screen the doctor was looking at, however, watching the swirl of black and white and blobs of no distinct shape. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but she couldn’t tell anything from it. Not at first, until at last the doctor seemed to find what he was looking for and settled on a spot.

She could see the outline of a tiny, forming human. Her fingers instinctively tightened on Lemony’s, who’s face seemed glued to the screen as well. Neither of them spoke as Dr. Bartow moved the wand around and took a series of photos from different angles.

“Looks like everything is progressing normally. No abnormalities or anything that might point to something worrying. Which means I still insist you not go gallivanting up into the mountains or try and take down anything larger than the average housecat.” He glanced at Beatrice, who only vaguely nodded.

“The baby isn’t in a good position for me to get an idea of gender, but . . . “ He trailed off and tapped a few keys before a strange swooshing sound met her hears. “. . . that would be your baby’s heartbeat.”

Beatrice felt her breath catch somewhere in her throat. She finally tore her gaze away to look at Lemony, who’s face betrayed nothing. It was his eyes that caught her attention, the vague sheen to them. Lemony was having an emotion, though it was impossible to tell whether good or bad. She certainly hoped for the former. She squeezed his hand again and his gaze snapped to her. His lips twitched, and he lifted her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles.

“Everything’s normal?” He asked, not taking his gaze from Beatrice.

“Absolutely fine from the way it looks.” Dr. Bartow replied. “Still, keep taking the vitamins I gave you and keep an eye out for anything that feels strange.” He offered a warm, kind smile. “I’ll get you a towel to wipe off the gel and print out a few photos for you to keep, if you’d like. It might look large, but your little on is only about the size of a lemon right now.”

Beatrice laughed sharply, and Lemony’s smile grew.

 _Our lemon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I wrote this chapter for two reasons. One, because when I was researching and saw that babies were about the size of lemons at thirteen weeks, I HAD to. Second, fluff. Because we'll be diving right back into serious stuff next chapter! Enjoy it while you can!


	6. fifteen weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! a bit of some filler, and the introduction of another character.

“You’re doing a great job. Super, even.”

Beatrice smiled warmly despite the withering look from Bertrand.

“I’m being outwitted by a mass produced baby prison.” He remarked sharply. “While you’re sitting there eating – what even is that?”

“Leftover fried chicken and hummus.” She replied matter-of-factly as she took another bite of the strange concoction in the bowl in her lap. They were both sitting in the floor, Beatrice happily eating her way through her sudden craving while Bertrand attempted to help put together a crib. It was very early to be doing so, but Beatrice wanted everything well and ready far in advance. Just in case. The baby’s room was one just down the hall from her and Lemony’s. A safe distance so they could get to the little one with ease in the future. Lemony himself had picked the room, though Lemony had already disappeared that morning at the beckon of his brother for something he had not quite told Beatrice about. It worried her, of course, but she trusted him enough to know he had his reasons. Besides, she’d rain hell upon him if he did anything remotely stupid.

“I thought you wanted to do this while you were still able to?” Bertrand asked.

“I did. But then you’re doing such a good job I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re enjoying this too much. I’d like to see Snicket put this together.”

“You and I both know it would end up as some abstract, modern art piece and he’d write a ten page lament about it by the end.” Beatrice couldn’t hide her grin. “I appreciate your help, Bert. Really.”

“I know. I’m happy to help.” He smiled back in kind. “Though I think I might need a break before I lose it over building furniture.”

Beatrice offered out a hand to help him to his feet, which he took and dusted himself off.

They fell into easy, mindless conversation as they headed downstairs to the kitchen so Beatrice could rinse her bowl out and set a kettle on for tea. She was grateful for his company – not being able to help in missions as much as she would like was already starting to grate on Beatrice. She felt aimless and somewhat lost without the purpose of the organization to guide her because it had been her routine for so long. Being disturbed out of that made her feel useless (which was why she’d been rather irritable when Lemony had jaunted off with his brother that morning). On top of her frequent temperament the past few days, it was the first morning Beatrice had felt somewhat normal despite everything.

“Any luck on your intruders?” Bertrand asked as she set out two mugs. She frowned.

“Nothing. I’ve had a look at all the records from the organization and the old photographs taken – nothing matches. Which means they aren’t part of the organization, but they know about it.”

“Which is unhelpful.” He replied, mirroring her frown.

“Tell me about it. I’m still not entirely sure what their motives are. They mentioned recruiting me or offering some sort of _freedom_ as they mentioned, but I don’t know to what or why. They weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

“You know we all have your back, Beatrice. Whoever they are, we won’t let them touch you. Or the baby.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. I just wish I knew more. It makes me uneasy, knowing they might be back.”

In all honesty, Beatrice thought perhaps her friends had overreacted – she was never alone, now. Lemony was usually by her side, of course, but on the days he wasn’t someone else usually took his spot. As if they all feared Beatrice wasn’t entirely capable of defending herself. Not that she didn’t appreciate it, but it still felt somewhat suffocating. She hoped it wouldn’t be that way for the remainder of her pregnancy. She was not a piece of glass to be put up on some shelf, not to be touched. She remembered stating that explicitly, multiple times; despite everything, they still seemed somewhat determined to treat her that way.

Refusing to give in to her irritation, she focused on pouring the boiling water into the mugs atop tea bags (ginger root for herself, earl grey for Bertrand). She watched them float idly for several moments; despite her orders of lessening the stress, the hormones caused by her stow-away seemed intent on only creating more stress and further discourse.

Perhaps that’s why Lemony had gone that morning without saying a word. She had accidentally snapped at him yesterday afternoon over something she can’t even recall now. Maybe he’d grown tired of her swift attitude changes and had changed his mind about accepting an offer here instead of further away. Would he truly? It was entirely possible. Lemony Snicket was a very straight forward sort of man who had never truly looked comfortable with the idea of children. He’d changed his mind about staying with her, with the child that had been such a surprise.

“Beatrice?”

She looked up, snapping out of her spiral of thoughts with alarm. Bertrand looked concerned.

“Are you all right? You’re crying.”

Beatrice reached up to touch her face; a few tears had escaped the corners of her eyes. She wiped at them furiously with the back of her hand, brows knitted together.

“I . . . yes. I’m fine. I’m sorry. It’s these hormones. Yesterday I cried at a photograph of a kitten.”

“Were you thinking about it again?”

“No. I was just thinking about Lemony. Wondering if he regrets this.”

Bertrand seemed puzzled for a moment as he picked up the tea she’d made for them. Without words he ushered her gently to the breakfast nook by the window.

“If you’re asking if he regrets you, Beatrice, that’s a very uneducated question to ask.” Bertrand began slowly. “You’re beautiful. Clever. Amazing. And a great deal many other positive adjectives. He loves you. And believe me when I say he didn’t take the decision to remain here with you, with that little one, very lightly.”

Beatrice studied him.

“You talked to him, didn’t you?” She accused gently. He nodded once.

“We had a chat. Jacques was there. We politely informed him that any other decision other than being by your side would be the wrong one.”

“Oh, Bertrand – I wanted it to be _his_ decision. Not because he was being forced!” Guilt swelled up inside her chest before she could stop it, and she stared into her teacup miserably. Perhaps Lemony didn’t want a child at all. He was a writer. Writers had no time for children or women or anything else in their lives beyond a typewriter – at least, in his case.

“It _was_. We were _going_ to tell him that, but he said he intended to stay with you before we ever got the chance. I haven’t seen him look so determined since drama club auditions at Prufrock.”

She was crying again, and he offered out a square of fabric from his pocket.

“I just don’t want him miserable. Forced to be here with me.”

“He is anything but. I know that. And you know it, too. I imagine it’s that baby making you question everything.”

Beatrice smiled faintly, giving a watery chuckle.

“I know the books talked about being emotional, but this is ridiculous.”

“Well, drink your tea. It’ll help, and then you can come be _emotional_ at my attempts to assemble that wooden baby prison.”

Between the pair of them they managed to get the crib sorted, though it was the only productive thing done the rest of the day. Bertrand bid her farewell with slight hesitation, but Beatrice reveled in the blissful peace in being alone, even if would only be a few moments. Growing a human was exhausting and she had found that some silence was best at clearing her mind and letting her focus. It had certainly inspired more writing from her as of late.

Slipping out of the back door of the house, she basked in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. The air had a crisp quality to it; fall would soon be upon them, and then snow.

The grounds of the Snicket estate were well manicured, with a small walled garden that she recalled running through frequently as a child with the Snicket siblings and others of her generation of V.F.D. The Snicket matriarch had adored these gardens and had tended them herself, as well as the small greenhouse in one corner for plants all year around. There was an area to sit and enjoy meals outside on a stone patio, and yards of green lawn beyond. She’d spent so many afternoons here, happy and content both before and after her recruitment. Before she’d been dragged from her bed.

The ink on her ankle seemed to burn, reminding her sharply.

“You won’t be dragged from your bed.” She murmured suddenly, though not to herself. That would be insane. No, it was a soft and faithful promise to her child, who had yet to know any of the horrors and cruelties of the world. Being a noble volunteer was Beatrice’s choice (well, in some aspects it had never been a choice at all). She would not burden her child with such a role. Not unless they consented and volunteered.

 _Our_ child, a voice reminded her. _Lemony is part of this_.

He wanted to do this. He’d agreed, so Bertrand had promised, of his own free will. And the concern and hovering he seemed to do only further proved his intentions. But her mind easily wandered to the not-so-distant future. Would he grow bored at playing house with her? Would she? Being a volunteer was all she had ever known, the activity of it. The risk. The dangers. Transitioning into being a mother would be a difficult task; she didn’t exactly plan on running headfirst into a dangerous situation with a baby strapped to her chest. Lemony didn’t either – although that image alone brought a hidden smile to her face.

“You look happy.”

She turned; speak of the devil.

“Only thinking.” She replied as Lemony crossed the path from the house to where she stood at the gate of the gardens. He had been out to set up the new details of his new position with the newspaper, which had been all he could gush about that morning before breakfast. “How did it go?”

“There are some smaller productions on tour through the city they want me to review as my first assignment. So I can get the feel of things.” He replied. “The first major theatre performance I get to review is yours.”

“Oh, surely not.”

“I told them I’d be incredibly biased considering the light of my life would grace the stage, but they seemed unbothered. I suppose I’ll throw in a good word for Olaf as well.”

“We can’t have you being biased, Mr. Critic.” She quipped. “What if I’m absolutely terrible? I’ll be nearly a whale in size by then, too.”

“Terrible is not something you can be, Beatrice Baudelaire.” He assured gently, taking her face between his hands in a soft, intimate gesture. “And you will be the most beautiful whale in the entire pod.”

Beatrice swatted his chest.

“You’ve just called me a whale!”

Lemony looked utterly stricken at having offended her. He faltered, quickly trying to think of a way to backtrack, but Beatrice took pity on him and kissed him sweetly.

“Kidding.” She mused. “But should you call me that again, you’ll regret it.”

“Of course, my bright star.”

“You’re a terrible suck-up, Lem.”

“Is it working?”

She bit her lip to hide the grin worming it’s way across her face. “Perhaps somewhat. I’ll allow it.”

His expression eased into a soft, warm smile and he kissed her properly in a lingering embrace. No, there could be no doubt in her mind that Lemony Snicket loved her. Not when he looked at her like that, when his hands touched her with the gentleness of a sculptor and his piece of marble.

“Are you going to tell me what you were thinking about?” He inquired as she wrapped her arm in his and fell into step together, taking a walk through the winding garden paths. Flowers of every kind normally grew on the bushes and trees and beds, but a lot of them had already faded for the season. Still, they meandered through the browning buds.

“It was an idea, actually.” She remarked. “Though I’m not certain you’d like it.”

“You won’t know until you tell me.”

“We should get an aviary.”

 

* * *

 

 

The damage to the library windows had been repaired, which meant Beatrice could return to spending time in the great room. The trap door to the tunnels had been left alone for now; she had been uneasy about sealing it in a more permanent way in case the need to use it ever became apparent in an emergency. Besides, surely the intruders would not return the same way.

Intruders she still had no information about.

For the most part, at the very least. She’d written to Dewey Denouement to ask for any information regarding the pair that had broken into her home. Given detailed descriptions because she still didn’t know their names, hopeful that perhaps his records held something hers had not. His response was in her hands now, a thick envelope with his scrawl atop addressed to her. Sitting down at the desk in the library, she ripped it open with careful fingers. His note fell out first.

_Beatrice,_

_This is the only thing I could find. The correspondence is from a volunteer in the mountains some months ago. I will keep looking._

_D._

Another letter fell out, this time in a different hand. As if it had been scrawled hastily and rushed. It was well creased in certain places and she was gentle in unfolding it.

What parts of it she could read mentioned something of giant eagles and two strange people, though she couldn’t be certain. The ink was faded in a lot of places – clearly the message had been through a lot. But the description of the strangers sounded like her intruders, but without photographic evidence there was no telling for certain. Frustrated, she set the letter down on the desk with a huff.

It was a clue, but not at all helpful. If anything it dragged forward more questions. Had they once been part of the organization? They clearly knew of it or were involved somehow, but Beatrice didn’t have any concrete evidence – and it appeared neither did Dewey. Or anyone else. If they had been volunteers there was simply no record of them in any places possible. No permanent reminder.

Beatrice’s mind stuttered to a halt.

A permanent reminder.

With an almost outlandish idea in her mind, she dashed toward the front hall, barely snagging her coat on the way out.

The city was alive in the afternoon sun, it’s usual hustle and bustle that she used to her advantage to  swim between the crowds on the sidewalks. She knew where she wanted to go and plotted her path accordingly. It was such a far reach of an idea, a ridiculous one – but there was some small shred of her that hoped it would prove useful. Anything to help her piece together the two who had broken into the house, the two so hellbent on dismantling the organization.

Left, right, another left and straight on for another block. The narrow alley was shaded from the main street, the only door in the wall of the building shadowed by the tall brick structures on either side. It wasn’t a well known place outside of V.F.D., but one that was frequented quite a lot. Glancing behind her out of habit to ensure she hadn’t been followed, Beatrice’s fingers found the literary lock sealing the door and twisted it to the correct response, _The Great Gatsby_. Some things never changed.

She pushed through into a dimly lit hallway, sealing the door behind her. The lighting only grew dimmer, but it was enough to see the steps to her left that spiraled down deeper into the dark. Naturally, Beatrice followed with a white knuckled grip on the railing. It wouldn’t do to break her neck. Her shoes clicked softly against the worn metal steps, echoing quite loudly within the hall until they touched down on plush carpeting at the very bottom. They’d upgraded since her last visit.

Another door brought her into a brightly lit parlor straight out of a Victorian home. It looked entirely out of place for the location with it’s gilded ceilings and beautiful furniture, all branded with some fashion of V.F.D. symbol. Even other doors that led off the room were decorated with the eye, an endless swirling design that could stand to make one very dizzy.

“Coming for a touch up?”

Her gaze landed on the figure leaned against the wall just behind her, who she hadn’t noticed when she’d first entered. Her lips curled into a faint grin. He was a head taller than her, smartly dressed, with dark hair peppered with grey. There was a scar over one cheek brought into sharp relief by the dim, ambient lighting of the room.

“Not quite.” She mused. “Were you waiting for me, Amory?

Amory looked amused, pushing off from the wall.

“Always.” His lips curled into a grin. “How may I help the beautiful Beatrice today?”

“I need to see your records. All of the volunteers that have come through here. It’s important, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking to breach such privacy.”

Amory’s eyebrow lifted as he folded his arms across his chest. The sleeves of his blazer rode up at the wrists, revealing the beginnings of what she knew to be sleeves of tattoos on either side. Beautiful, intricate, masterfully done.

“How important?”

“I’m gestating someone who’s life might depend on me finding these people.”

He seemed to hesitate, but nodded once with a long sigh.

“Alright. But don’t tell anyone I let you have a peek, eh?”

“You have my word.”

“It’s in the back. C’mon.”

With no further prodding, Beatrice followed him through one of the doors into a starkly different room. Where the room before had been lush and beautiful and comforting, this room was far more sterile. Almost like a hospital room, were it not for the equipment scattered about and the comfortable looking, if not slightly strange looking beds. He gestured for her to sit while he went to a file cabinet in the corner and began to shuffle through.

Amory had been grizzled and just going grey when Beatrice had met him; he looked exactly the same as always from what even older generations said. There was a running theory that perhaps he was immortal, though she sincerely doubted it. In that time, however, he had been branding tattoos on V.F.D. members for as long as anyone could remember. The delicate, stylized marks that forever labeled them as volunteers. Beatrice remembered getting hers very vividly, and how Amory had to hold her leg still because it kept jumping up and down in anxiety.

“I’d heard tell you were getting into trouble.” He murmured, ruffling through files with a furrowed brow. “Can’t even try and take it easy, can you?”

“Of course not. Would you expect anything different?” She laughed, folding her hands across her stomach. “Besides, I’d be too bored if I led a quieter life.”

“A bored Beatrice Baudelaire would be a dangerous thing in the world.”

He returned to her side a few minutes later with a stack of notebooks, letting them fall onto the bed beside her.

“Right. This is everyone I’ve ever given a tattoo to in the organization. It’s a bit of a mess, the organization. Signatures. Photos. Gotta keep good records about who I’m inking. It’s . . . organized chaos.”

“A bit like V.F.D.” Beatrice remarked with a half smile. “Thank you. I promise not to take too long.”

“Take all the time you need.”

**Author's Note:**

> you know, in case you aren't tired of me writing hopeless beatrice/lemony alternate fics yet.


End file.
